


You're A Wolf, Boy

by amsay



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 08:04:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2805473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amsay/pseuds/amsay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haymitch Abernathy can count on one hand, the people he cares deeply for. Until that number becomes one, and then none.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're A Wolf, Boy

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to detail someone else's games for a while now, and I fully expected Johanna Mason to be first(it will happen) but suddenly the headcanon of Mr. Everdeen and Haymitch Abernthy being friends popped into my head. It would add a new layer on his choosing to keep Katniss alive. 
> 
> There might be the occasional two boys kissing, but all ends up the way it does in canon. 
> 
> Unbeta's as usual. Likely there will be slight grammar errors because of it.

"Abernathy,"

The voice is behind me moments before I feel the presence of who it belongs to. The start it gives me is visible, and I respond with a low growl. I can sense the smirk and it does nothing but infuriate me further. "Everdeen," I grit out in response, turning to look at him. 

Rion Everdeen is similar in height and look as I am. Same dark hair, grey eyes and olive skin. The Seam look. Features that attribute to poverty, on most of us. Except Everdeen, though slim like the rest of us, carries more weight. He's in the woods often before sunrise and ends up sliding into his school desk minutes after the bell signalling for us all to be accounted for rings. 

"Bit early, isn't it?" He's referring to bottle I've just exchanged coins for. An extravagance, really. I know the purchase of liquor is both selfish and unnecessarily, but frankly I couldn't care less. My mother and younger brother, Anders, have both been fed. The extra coins are of my own earning. I'll spend them on what I please. Grunting, I shrug and pop the cork, taking a swig in front of him. Defiance to his wordless lecture, and I can see on Rion's face that he's nor approving. 

"It's barely daylight," he huffs out, but even his annoyance can't hide the smile that is seemingly permanent on his face. Slung on his hip is the plump bag, no doubt stuffed with the kills of his early morning adventures to feed his own family. He's an only child, but his mother has been sick since I've come to know him well enough. His father does what most adults in District 12 do, and that's descend into the mines in the early hours and return to the surface as the sun settles. He's on the same crew as my mother. 

During the winters like this, they rarely see the sun. 

"It's a special day," I respond. And it is. No one is entirely certain. The adults in the District have whispered rumours about the reading of a card that signifies the flavour of the second Quarter Quell. The fiftieth anniversary of the moronic Hunger Games. We've all been let off duties and school for the day. A holiday of sorts. As if it does any good to the twenty four families in the districts of Panem. Twenty three of them will loose a child. 

Sixteen years of watching, and I find myself apathetic. Perhaps the liquor is to help numb the fact that last year, a mutual friend of Rion and I had their bowels removed on live television. 

The memory causes a look to creep to my face that has Rion dropping the subject entirely. "How's the lovely Beverly?" Beverly's tied in place for most significant people in my life, with Everdeen. My girlfriend since we became close when her sister was killed in the games a few years back. Lovely is an easy word to call her, though I've never been one for such niceties as Rion is. But with vibrant ginger hair and large green eyes, she's a bit of a sight for sore eyes. Especially when everyone in District 12 blends in with the typical Seam or Merchant look. Kids in school used to tease her. Pull the frizzy orange curls and bring tears to her eyes. 

Until one day Rion and I stepped in. Tripp Hawthorne and he hadn't gotten along since. Rion's still got the chipped tooth but he'd gotten something better and that was Hawthorne's pride. Beverly, Rion and I had been friends ever since, all of us falling around the age of twelve. 

"She's alright," I shrug. A noncommittal gesture as his arm falls around my shoulder to accompany him, booth to booth in the black market we call the Hob. "As good as the community home allows." She's a passive one, our Beverly. Doesn't start anything. It keeps their hands off her and she doesn't get sent to bed without supper. 

We stop at a table as Rion hands over a plump bird, taking the coins in return. The old woman sells a number of things and so rarely bargains. Her price or nothing. But she's got an affinity for Rion, as most people in the Hob do. He's charismatic, voice playful and musical and he flirts with nearly everyone. But it gets him the money needed to help with his mother. 

And any excuse to go to the apothecary in town is enough to plaster a grin of his face. He's infatuated with the daughter there. Cordia, her name is. But she's been with Whyatt Mellark since we could all toddle around the schoolyard. Not that Rion minds. He's friends with most everyone in some degree, and Whyatt is no different from the rest. If there's anything threatening between them and Cordia, none of us are aware of it. 

As for myself, I'm 'affectionately' told I'm hostile and indifferent. I agree completely, and when I do it brings a pout to Beverly's lips and a laugh from Rion's. 

I follow behind as Everdeen makes his rounds, holding the bottle tightly in my grip. I don't drink any more, wanting to avoid the dullness that comes into my friends eyes when he sees me drinking my problems away. So high and mighty, when we all have our vices. He copes out in the woods, the fresh and clean air making him far more intoxicated than the white liquor ever could. 

I've been out with him a handful of times. Not by my choice, either. I get coaxed out with the melodic voice and playful banter that is one of my few weak points. Beverly's eyes, his laugh, my family. The people I care about are few and far between, because they're my weaknesses. The worst bit is that Rion knows exactly how to play my buttons. If only he was easy to hate. 

He's the happiest in the woods. Almost like a new creature, not quite human. Someone crossed between human and a being who makes their kingdom in the forest. Dangling upside down from tree limbs, perched on rocks. I don't go out with him often. Too loud. My tread is heavy and my words can be loud when there's no one around to punish me for them. A bad day is when he drags me there with him, walking hours to some lake he's fond of. It gives me a chance to throw a tantrum and curse the cards we've been dealt. Dead or absent parents, starving friends and siblings, annual games that mean the demise of our friends. No wonder I rarely make them. Beverly takes no tesserae because the community home holds no one she cares enough to add those extra tickets for. Rion makes a decent living with his skills at hunting, trading. 

They're about as safe as they can get here in District 12. No tesserae, not as starving as the rest of us. Fifteen slips each. I've got fifteen. Plus the additional three a year for tesserae for my mother, brother and I. Not to mention they add on the slips from the years before. This puts me at something like thirty slips to my name, that'll be in those reaping balls this year. 

By the time Rion's finished, I've zoned out completely, calculating the odds in my head. Of course, everything will be for nothing since this year is a big one. The Quarter Quell. 

"Penny for your thoughts?" Rion asks, and I can hear his pockets jingle with coins. In front of me is a bronze copper, dangling in his fingers teasingly. I reach up and snatch it out of spite, narrowing my eyes as I stuff it in my pocket. "Calculating my chances of being murdered," I grumble. 

We're still in the Hob, and my words here are easily forgotten like the coal dust in the cracks of the floor boards. These things I can't say in my home, in the streets. Only whispered between friends or screamed out in the woods, annoying Rion as I scare away his game. We're to speak of the Games as festivities. The Capitol as generous and forgiving, loving it's districts. 

It's complete bullshit.

My comment brings a sigh from my friend, however, and next I know we're out the doors and into the crisp winter air. I stuff the bottle in my jacket. The stuff is illegal, and I've been nearly caught stumbling back home a few too many times to be safe. They're quick to bring anyone to the whipping post, and I've taken a trip there once myself. Five lashes for speaking inappropriately to a Peacekeeper. The colourful language was nearly worth it. 

"The announcement is supposed to be sometime after supper. Come to the town Square with me to watch?" I groan, not wanting to watch it anywhere. But between my mothers small sobs and the wide, sad eyes of my little brother... Well, it's the least depressing of the options. At least in the Square, we'll be able to hide our disgust with the rest of the district. 

Twenty five years ago marked the first Quarter Quell. No doubt the televisions are always replaying the twenty fifth annual Hunger Games this year in honour of Panem making it to the second one. I don't bother to watch it, most of us don't. There are better things to do than fill our time with watching our fellow district members die. That year, they voted the kids in the arena. I remember my mother speaking of it once. How District 12 voted in a brother and sister duo who'd lost their parents to pneumonia. Seam kids, decomposing and starving. 

At least they had time to enjoy the finery of the Capitol before dying quicker than the starvation would have. 

I nod, a sigh escaping my lips and turning to white air in the cold. There's a bit of snow left on the ground from the winter, but spring is quickly chasing it away. According to the calendar, it should have been here a week ago. But the weather so rarely listens to what humans say. Couldn't blame it if I tried.

As we make our way back to the Seam, Rion's hand finds it way to my shoulder again. He's squeezing, kneading out some of the tension that's built up since the last time someone's rubbed it out. Eventually we come to the fork that will split us up. "I'll see you later, then?" Rion asks, and I nod in agreement. The day is still young, and I already know what the rest of it will be until we meet back up. Him, prepping dinner. Perhaps making his way to the apothecary. Likely I'll crawl into bed for a nap, help mother by cleaning up. Her hours are long and the work is exerting. Relaxation would do her well. 

Rion's hand slips from my shoulder after giving it a small pat, and I give a tilt of my head in parting.

"See you later, Haymitch," he calls out, and for a few moments I watch him tread down his side of the fork. It's not long after his goodbye that his voice drifts through the air with some song only he knows. 

_'Old gypsy woman spoke to me,_  
Lips stained red from a bottle of wine.  
The one that you are looking for,  
You're not gonna find her here.' 

**Author's Note:**

> I would tell you why I picked the names, but if you can figure out the reasoning, let me know because I want to see how you interpret it. 
> 
> Also, lyrics at the end come from Sea Wolf's You're A Wolf, which also donates a lyric to the title.


End file.
